


Every Breath

by AngelBless



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know how to tag this, Mindscapes, Paranoia, Possession, Vomiting, daemonic possession, each of the bros get a turn comforting noct, first time writing present tense, hurt noct, let the boys hug, possession aftermath, prompto has a pretty rough time too, suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 22:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelBless/pseuds/AngelBless
Summary: A standard hunt turns into a fight for Noct's life when a mindflayer joins the fray.





	Every Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Been working on this one since mid-November! Eep! Always wanted to write some possession, it's one of my favourite tropes. Really hope you guys enjoy! <3
> 
> Dedicating this fic to our wonderful goat friends~ (I added the thing, like I said I would! \o/)

The hunt itself is no real problem; being tasked to take out some flans that have gradually been massing over the course of a few days, according to reports. Despite their high defence, they are eventually cut down to size. The moon shines down brightly upon them, giving them excellent visibility, considering it’s past midnight. At this point, victory is assured.

Until their presence call forth a small horde of goblins into the fray. The last flan is thankfully defeated as the new threat makes their move, ducking and jumping about from the group’s attacks. Noctis growls as he finally manages to land a hit on one of them, slicing it in two. The nippy little buggers just don’t know when to stay still and _die_.

“Prompto, you holding up okay?” he calls over, summoning on his daggers and throwing them into another goblin while its back is turned.

“Yup, no problem!” the blond replies with a confident tone in his voice, shooting at another one of the creatures with incredible accuracy. The battleground illuminates in a brilliant flash of lightning as a small cluster of goblins are taken out by a well aimed thunder spell from Ignis, as Gladio barrels through the remaining daemons.

As the final goblin fades out in a wisp of black, Noct lets out a breath as everything falls quiet.

Too quiet. Something doesn’t feel right. A bubbling sound echoes in his ears as his eyes dart around the area, eyes wide with a tension he can’t place. The air has grown cold—far too cold for a typical Leide evening. He hadn’t worn his jacket for that very reason, despite Ignis’ objections.

The sound continues but he can’t _see_ anything. But the others…the others are looking in his direction. Not at him, but _through_ him.

At whatever is behind him.

His mind screams for him to turn around, to see what it is, to _fight_ , but no part of him will respond. He’s helplessly frozen in place as the chill continues to descend deep within his bones, a dark fog surrounding his vision as the others fade from view. They’re calling his name, but they sound so far away. He desperately wants to call back to them, but his voice is lost as grotesque fingers wrap around him, exuding a dark, purple aura; his body still refuses to respond. Are they still calling for him? He can’t hear them anymore.

A whisper echoes in his ears and his eyelids grow heavy. His head tingles as he feel the tendrils of sleep sink deeper in his mind, dragging him under and into the darkness.

 

“Go Iggy!” Prompto cheers as the advisor takes out a good portion of the enemy with precision thunder. This is great! Now they can head back, claim their reward and finally get a decent night’s sleep in the motel. Although judging from the time of night, the sun rising in just a couple of hours is certainly putting a damper on his masterplan.

He moves forward to meet with the others, pausing as the air turns colder. Everything seems...darker all of a sudden? But the moon is still high in the sky. That’s never a good sign. Gun at the ready, he keeps a keen eye out for any new threats, jumping at the familiar sound of a daemon emerging from the ground. And then he sees it, something rising behind Noct. The sense of dread it emanates almost seems to make the lands turn into that of a horror game. A disgusting creature forms, tendrils and tentacles protruding from its face and body, its limbs long and twisted. A mindflayer. He’s heard about them from Ignis, and their ability to mess with a person’s mind. And one is hovering _right behind Noctis_ , a glow in its eyes radiating a feeling of fear that sinks deep into Prompto’s stomach.

“Noct, get out of the way!” Raising his gun to take aim, he waits for the shot but the prince remains still, frozen in place. Can he even move? His eyes lock with Noct’s, a chill running through his bones as they seem to dim by the second. It’s clouds covering up the moonlight, surely. It _has_ to be.

The mindflayer wraps its long fingers around Noctis in some kind of twisted embrace as Gladio paces around, looking to get a clean shot of the creature. Greatsword gripped tightly in his hands, he rushes forward with a cry.

“Gladio, wait!” Ignis calls out as the man races forward, the mindflayer releasing its grip as it spies its foe. Where the shield expects to meet with the daemon’s body, instead metal meets metal with a dull clang as his sword collides with the blade of the very prince he’s sworn to protect.

“Noct, what the hell are you—” He cuts off at the sight of his charge’s pupilless eyes; an eerie mix of turquoise and purple shining where once there were blue irises. His face holds a hollow expression—unthinking, unfeeling—even as he forces Gladio back and swings the engine blade at his own shield.

“Gladio, retreat!” Ignis’ voice rings out with an urgency that is very seldom heard. “The mindflayer has him under its control!”

“Shit, what do we do?!” Prompto cries out, sucking in a deep breath as the creature summons more goblins to the fight. He picks off those he can spy with ease, scowling as they continually trickle in, easily replacing those that had been taken out. Noctis stands, weapon at the ready, poised to attack should Gladio make any kind of move. The gunner fires off a few shots at the mindflayer, ready to fire more as it lets out a disgusting groan. His focus on the target fades within seconds, as Noctis’ attention turns to the gunner, his expression never faltering.

Prompto barely manages to roll out of the way as the prince’s blade goes screaming by him, carrying him a small distance past Prompto in his failed attack. The mindflayer lets out a distorted chuckle that chills Prompto’s blood—it was very clearly and very sickeningly _enjoying_ finding out the abilities of its new puppet.

Noct is fast, already spinning around and lunging forward for another attack. Prompto calls up the first thing he can think of from the armiger—an older lance they’d yet to sell—and barely manages to block the strike, stumbling on impact. “Noct!” His voice is high and panicked. “Noct, you’re in there, right? Come on man, this isn’t funny!” he pleads, a cold sensation settling in the pit of his stomach as he locks eyes with his friend. It’s like there’s nothing there—a mindless extension of the daemon they desperately need to defeat.

Ignis takes the chance to launch his daggers at the creature, sprinting over to Prompto as Gladio follows up his attack. As the creature cries out once more in pain, Noct jumps away from the blond and warps directly for the shield, cutting him off from his offensive. As Gladio blocks the assault, Ignis pulls his own lance from the armiger, handing it to Prompto.

“I need you to keep Noct distracted while Gladio and I take down the mindflayer,” he says, voice quiet yet firm. “I’ve heard tales, but there’s no way to truly knowing how extensive the damage to his mind could be if left under its control for too long.” Calling on his daggers once more, he looks unwaveringly into Prompto’s fearful eyes. “Incapacitate him if you must—we have potions. I trust you, Prompto. Do whatever it takes.”

Ignis is gone before Prompto can get more than a word of protest in. He looks down nervously at the more powerful lance in one hand, then the gun in his other. He just has to be the bigger threat to the mindflayer to call Noct over. Just has to keep him busy. Drawing in a deep steadying breath, he aims at the mindflayer, firing a piercer shot cleanly at its head.

Not even a few seconds pass before he has to parry yet another attack, bones shaking from the force of impact. He shoves Noctis back and takes a defensive swipe at his _own friend_ , slicing against his shirt as blood taints the tip of the spear. Noctis doesn’t even flinch.

“Damnit Noct, come on!” he pleads, rolling behind him and catching the prince’s back this time. Prompto’s face scrunches up in guilt—he’s well aware he’s aiming for the old injury that had plagued Noct so badly in the past. It’s a cheap move, and he despises himself for resorting to it, but maybe if he can hit the right spot, he can stop him in his tracks.

It works, somewhat. Noct stumbles, yet otherwise shows no sign of injury—no sign of pain—and Prompto seizes his brief chance. He bowls into Noct, the haft of his spear hard against his neck, knee uncomfortably pinning one arm down, while his free hand holds the other in place. The skin under his fingers feels so _cold_.

Metres away, he sees Gladio and Ignis fighting against the daemon. Ignis’ daggers are infused with fire magic, and he manages to slice off a few tendrils, while Gladio opts for heftier attacks in between attacking any rogue goblins that force their way into the battle. The daemon is fast—why did it even need a meat shield if it was so hard to target?! A sickening realisation comes to mind; it isn’t after a shield, it just needs to stall for time, while feeling on its victim’s _mind_. If they don’t act fast—!

Noct struggles against Prompto’s grip, nearly knocking him off balance. He slams his knee down harder into Noct’s arm, wincing as he thinks he hears cracking. Damnit, it seems their plan has been figured out. Prompto glances up as the daemon edges towards him, disgusting fingers glowing as it looms nearer. He tenses up in panic, the distraction being all Noct needs as he pushes himself from the ground forcefully, knocking the blond away and slicing through his shirt, rising to his feet once more. He’s significantly more hunched than before, thanks to his injury, but shows no other sign of pain.

A shriek echoes in the air as Gladio cleaves a number of tentacles from the mindflayer. It stumbles, flailing about in agony as the shield and advisor remain on guard. Noct freezes, his breath picking up. Prompto moves closer, far more cautiously than he would ever want to approach his friend, his eyes widening as the blue of Noct’s irises return, pupils fading in.

He looks dazed, confused, eyes locking on Prompto as muscles tense. A weak noise escapes his throat, before his eyes are overtaken by the ominous glow once more, grip tightening in his blade.

“Damnit, give him back!” Prompto cries, rushing forward, lance in hand. It’s easily flung away with a powerful swing of the sword. Prompto takes a step back, heartbeat racing as electricity sparks around the prince’s hand, keeping him at a distance. _Shit_ , it’s using his magic now?! Gladio and Ignis continue their assault as a twisted laugh escapes Noctis’ throat—a laugh that chills Prompto to the core. That _thing_ is using his voice. Prompto remains still, both stunned and terrified, as the daemon’s puppet warps towards the new threat.

The two take blows, unwilling to go all out as they defend against their prince. Prompto wastes no time in firing more rounds at the gradually slowing mindflayer. On cue, after Noct almost effortlessly avoids Ignis’ attack, he once again moves closer to the gunner.

Prompto keeps firing at the daemon—he refuses to stop. Even as one of the bullets catches Noct’s arm in his approach, he backs up, step by step, firing round after round as his friend draws ever closer. The other two go on the attack once more, finally managing to wear the beast down at long last. Noct stills, and Prompto grows weary. He sees the way Noct’s chest spasms, breaths reaching him in shallow sharp breaths. His lungs are fighting for air—it’s trying to stop him _breathing_.

This twisted creature wants to take its new toy down with it.

Prompto closes the distance between them, hands firmly planted on Noct’s upper arms. The glow in his eyes is fading; not to the blue Prompto desperately wants to see, but to a dull grey. Lifeless. Cold. They were losing him.

“Gladio! Iggy!” Prompto manages to choke out, feeling the prince’s convulsing body under his grip. With a deep breath, he lets go, firing as flurry of bullets and piercer shots. He didn’t care if he’s attacked by his best friend right now, this needs to end!

At long last, its pained screech echoes around as it finally dissolves to nothing. As if a switch is flipped, the remaining daemons disappear, and Noctis stumbles, letting out a pained wheeze before he crumples to his knees, head low and glazed eyes barely open.

 

Noctis doesn’t know where he is. The world around him twists and stretches before his eyes, until finally, it settles. And then at last, he knows. He recognises these corridors well—it’s the Citadel. His home. A strange feeling tugs at the back of his mind, but he can’t place what it is. Walking through familiar hallways, members of the royal staff greet him at every turn. He finds himself focusing on their faces. Have they...always been so similar? He shakes his head—it has to be their dress code making them look the same. Yeah, that’s it.

He needs to see his dad. He doesn’t know why, today doesn’t seem especially important, but he just _has_ to—feeling his shoulders tense up at the thought, his pace increases. He doesn’t recall ever having to walk this far to reach his father’s study before. Time crawls on as he turns corner after corner.

‘ _Noct!’_

He freezes. What...was that? Spinning around to look behind him, he only finds the empty corridor stretching endlessly into the distance, further than could have possibly been real, even given the vastness of the Citadel. Tension rises in the pit of his stomach as he continues onwards, ever closer to the king’s study. Something’s happened—something that’s making him want to see his dad. Is it the same thing that’s leaving his mind so on edge and muscles so tense?

He approaches the door, hesitating before knocking on the hardwood. Opening his mouth to speak, breath catches in his throat as nothing comes out.

_‘Damnit Noct, come on!’_

He freezes, just for a second. What _is_ this? His chest stings, sharp and tugging with each beat of his heart. Shaking his head, he pushes the door open. The room is devoid of life. No papers askew, no writing implements left out of their cases, not a single sign the room has been occupied. He spies himself in the mirror, blood running cold at the unnatural shimmer in his eyes that greets him. Something is wrong—he has to find his father. He wastes no time in rushing to the throne room. He has to be there. He _has_ to be! His heart races, but the unearthly slow way he draws in breath despite that leaves his head light. Rushing past the endless stream of now faceless servants, he reaches the familiar imposing doors. Forcing them open, he—

Is in his apartment? Taking in the living space around him, he closes his bedroom door and paces cautiously across the floor. What he saw before, it must have been a dream, surely. His back hurts as he jolts with each step; perhaps he hadn’t slept well. Wincing from the ache as he takes in the view of his uncharacteristically tidy dwelling, his eyes settle on the night sky through his balcony window.

It’s so beautiful, shimmering with the power of the wall. He ignores the twinge in his back, pacing slowly, ever closer to the balcony, eyes remaining fixed on the on the expansive skyline before him. Everything is too still, too quiet, even through the shut windows. He finds himself hypnotised by the rippling power in the night sky, eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar purple hue that dances alongside the blue he’s so accustomed to, before they fall on a figure beyond the glass. It’s a dark silhouette, even with the city lights shining so spectacularly around it. Reaching forward for the door, he slides it open forcefully, running to confront the figure, to…

To end up in Tenebrae..? The fields are expansive, the rich scent of the sylleblossoms encloses his senses. It’s making him dizzy. Is he dreaming again? This isn’t right, this _isn’t_ —

It melts away, twisting around him as new sights, sounds and sensations crash all around him. Dark. The smell of blood in the air as fresh pain surges through his body, Prompto standing before him. He’s hurt, he looks terrified. Terrified of _him_ . The weighty sensation of a weapon in his hand breaks through his cacophony of thoughts. Oh gods, has he—? A choked sound leaves his throat as he pleads with his body to respond—to _speak_. Nothing more than a barely formed word escapes his lips as this new vision fades away to the blissful fields of Tenebrae once more.

_‘Damnit, give him back!’_

His head is spinning, heart is racing. Ignoring the pulsing ache he feels, he sprints through the landscape, desperate to find Fenestela Manor. It has to be close, surely! He remembers it so clearly...doesn’t he?

He can see it, looming in the distance. Stumbling to the ground as everything spins around him, he gasps for breath, eyes wide as a laugh is ripped from his throat. Ice cold horror creeps into the pit of his stomach. That isn’t his voice. A hand to his neck, his heart still refuses to steady, but he hauls himself to his feet once more and continues to run. His eyelids grow heavy, but he has to...has to…

...What does he have to do again? His legs are like lead as his body grows colder; he slows to a stop. Opening his eyes— _when did he close them?_ —Tenebrae withers away into a dark land, alight with fire, burning flesh and terrified screams filling his senses as the world no longer focuses. Everything is too loud, too much, a dreaded feeling in his stomach rising as, through his increasingly dissonant mind, he recalls this scene.

The harrowingly familiar form of the marilith looms closer, sights locked directly on him. He can’t run—it’s getting hard to think, hard to breathe. His body feels like a dead weight and he just wants to _sleep_.

Why is he here? He can’t remember anymore. Has he even known to begin with? He shouldn’t...shouldn’t be here. He knows he shouldn’t be but...where is he _supposed_ to be? There’s yelling, but it’s so muffled—nothing is piercing the fog in his brain. It’s getting harder to drag air into his lungs, like something has wrapped its way around him, constricting them, forcing them to stop working. His body struggles, spasming and fighting for oxygen. It’s not enough—his head hurts, it feels so light. He’s falling, drifting away into the death filled night as the daemon slides ever closer. What was he doing? Why is he here? The crushing feeling around his lungs only intensifies—oh gods, he’s going to _die_. Eyes locked on the waning form of the marilith, a memory stirs. Daemons. They’re fighting daemons. His friends—they need him. He can’t die here! They still have to...to…defeat the...

The world breaks apart as the suffocating ache in Noct’s chest releases its hold, and he finally heaves in air after far too long. The rush sends his head reeling as he crashes to his knees, motionless as the grass fades into a dusty desert backdrop.

 

The pain hits him first, and it hits him hard. It courses through his body, sending his muscles into spasms and taxing his already strained lungs. It’s as if he’s forgotten how to even breathe. Then he hears something...yelling? It’s so muffled and garbled but it’s loud and he just wants it to _stop_ . Something’s touching his arms and shoulders, but he can’t even move to fight them off. Unpleasant memories whirl in his head. The lands filled with fire. The feeling of coldness seeping into his core. The smell of blood and burning flesh in the air. The fearful look on his friend’s face. The marilith. It's so hard to pick apart what's real or not. The only thing he knows for sure is that there’s a daemon close by. His eyes have slipped closed and refuse to open—he can’t even see what’s around him anymore. Everything hurts so much. He can't bring his body to do _anything_. There’s no way he can fight.

A panic surges through him—he _has_ to fight, he can’t let it win. Can’t cause the look of fear on his friend’s faces like he saw on Prompto. He can't be the same broken and bleeding boy from twelve years ago. Focusing on his breathing—something he thankfully _can_ do—his fingers twitch, a small amount of control finally returning to him. He moves to raise his arm, fearful of why it hurts so damn much. The movement is sloppy, but it doesn’t matter. “Stay back!” he manages to say, voice slurred, weak and almost foreign in his ears, but still _his_. Small bursts of flame glow through his closed eyelids as he hears more shouting, the suffocating grips on him retreating at last. At long last he pries his eyes open, the blurry image of Prompto and Ignis’ startled faces looking back at him. They're sporting new cuts and bruises than when he’d last seen them, dirt and blood smeared on their skin and clothing as they keep their distance, cautiously waiting.

His eyes widen. He remembers this. Remembers the terrified look on Prompto’s face for those few brief seconds before it all faded back into the blissful fields of Tenebrae. That wasn’t just another dream. He’d _hurt_ them. And he’d almost done it again. His breathing picks up. Oh gods, what has he _done_? A low voice rumbles from beside him. He figures it to be Gladio. He tries to back away, before he causes anymore harm, but finds himself unable to. Maybe he’s no longer in control of himself anymore. He hangs his head, too tired to keep it held up, as his arm finally drops down to rest on his legs. The sounds around him gradually become clearer as he overhears Prompto ask Ignis something. He’s not sure what, and he can’t understand why the words sound so wrong in his head.

Its a few long moments before he feels a gentle grasp around his hand. He twitches out of reflex, and even tries pulling away, but the grip doesn’t become tighter. He’s so thankful for that.

“Noct?”

He focuses on his friend’s hands. They’re covered in scrapes and blood. Whose, he can’t dare say. A pain shoots up his spine as feels his body sagging further. His muscles aren’t responding right.

“Come on, Noct. It’s okay now. You’re alright.”

He blinks slowly, gaze still on Prompto’s hands. He can make out some of what’s said now, at least. Definitely an improvement.

“Noct, look at me. _Please._ ”

Prompto’s voice is sounding increasingly desperate. Slowly, his eyes trail up. From Prompto’s hands, along his arms, to his chest—now sporting a cut across it—and finally, to a relieved face full of so much warmth and worry he almost can’t stand to look.

Prompto smiles. “There we go,” he says gently, voice wavering. “See Noct? It’s us. You’re safe now, I promise.”

Noct lets out a breath, although it comes out more as a sob. His body starts shuddering, an influx of emotions overtaking him as tears well up, spilling over in seconds. He curses himself for not being able to control it.

“No no, come on, it’s over.” Prompto leans forward, pulling him into a careful hug. Hands sifting through his hair, the gunner is relieved as Noct leans into him, letting out a long breath.

“M’sorry,” Noct mumbles, earning a gentle shushing in return. “I don’t...don’t know what—” He sucks in a deep, unsure breath. “I...I saw it. You were—” His voice cracks as another sob racks his body.

“It wasn't you,” Prompto says firmly. “It was a daemon—but we killed it, I swear.” He finally pulls back, hands on Noct’s shoulders. Letting out nervous breath of air, he makes sure his gaze is locked with his friend. “It’s all okay now, Noct. _We’re_ okay. I promise.” He frowns slightly, brows pinching in concern. “But _you_ really need a potion or two.” His eyes skip to specific parts of his body that have the worst cuts and bruises, then dart away, a look of guilt clouding his once positive expression. Pulling out a potion, he hands it to Noct, whose arm is still reluctant to listen. The gunner is fast to assist as he downs the curative; Noct winces as it knits together the deep gashes littering his body.

He’s gasping for breath by the time he’s drunk the second potion, still feeling the ache in his back, but Prompto’s there to steady him. All is still for the moment, but as the desert lands finally begin to grow lighter, a hand rests on Prompto’s shoulder.

“I believe we best be heading off now,” Ignis says quietly, and Prompto looks over to Gladio, who’s been patrolling the direct area, ready to shield his prince should any other daemons or creatures be foolish enough to attack. Prompto’s sure the ferocious look he carries could even deter an iron giant.

Prompto looks back to Noct, who looks so tired, so lost, it makes his chest ache. “Noct?” he says carefully, trying his best to ignore the minute flinch that ran through him at the sound. “We gotta go now. Gladio’s gonna carry you. That okay?” The way Noct’s brows pinch slightly very much imply he’s still struggling to understand what’s happening. It’s a clear after effect of the mindflayer’s control, but he’s safe, it will remedy in time. After a few long seconds, he nods, and Prompto waves Gladio over.

Helping Noctis onto Gladio’s back is more awkward than anticipated. While his injuries cause him no problems, healed enough to withstand movement, his body is like a deadweight, as if the foul creature has taken all of his strength with it. The walk back to the car is quiet, as Gladio listens carefully to Noct’s shaky breaths and how quickly his heart beats against his back. It comes as a relief when his breathing finally evens out and the tension in his body dissolves away. If he was intending to fight against sleep, it became a battle he had just lost.

Prompto glances over to Noct, eyes falling at the smeared blood on his skin and clothes, then the fading bruising on his arm from where his knee had so unceremoniously been brought down upon it. He’s pretty sure he can see traces of bruising on his neck from from the lance pinning him down too. He has to force himself to look away before his thoughts tailspin. Ignis places a hand on his shoulder.

“You did what was asked of you,” he speaks in a whisper. “Regardless of what has happened, he’s alive.”

“Y-yeah…” Prompto replies, barely audible. How he wishes it hadn’t come to that, though.

Finally arriving at the Regalia as the sun begins to peek over the horizon, everyone takes their positions in the car, with Noct resting against Gladio’s shoulder. His face twitches in an uneasy slumber. There’s an awkward silence hanging in the air, one that’s followed them for the majority of their trek. It’s fairly obvious between them all that they’d prefer not to talk about what had just transpired.

Ignis fetches a blanket from the car, draping it over the prince as he takes to the driver’s seat. “Should we put the roof up?” Prompto asks as he gets in the car, moving his hand towards the control. “He was really cold—don’t want him getting sick.”

“No...don’t…” Everyone looks to Noct, seeing the poor prince dazedly struggle to keep his eyes open. The blanket feels constricting enough—he can’t bear being completely closed in, despite the shiver that runs through him. Ignis sighs.

“Very well,” he concedes, as Prompto pulls back. “We aren’t too far from a motel, thankfully.”

 

Relatively short distance aside, it feels like they’re an eternity away from the motel. Noct is drifting in and out of consciousness, unpleasant memories and sensations bombarding him each time he succumbs to sleep. No matter how hard he fights it, it keeps pulling him in, reviving unpleasant sensations within him. He doesn’t want to sleep, the thought terrifies him, but it seems inevitable. His mind begins to wander. The things that he sees in his dreams, they’re all thanks to that...thing. The others haven’t spoken a word of the fight, just about a daemon, but he’s put together to pieces to know well enough what’s happened. It terrifies him.

As more time passes by, his mind fills with thoughts and what-ifs surrounding the fight. The things he’s done to cause such injuries to his friends; he doesn’t even know if the images conjured in his head are real or not. He closes his eyes and  sees bursts of magic, warping and striking at the very people he calls his friends. Being a prisoner in his own body, unable to do a thing about it. The lack of control sends fear through to the very pit of his stomach; he remembers the way it infected his body and mind like a poison, the way it used his own memories as a prison, desperate to cling onto him like a treasured puppet as he grew weaker by the second. The way its twisted laughed ripped straight from his throat. The way it even controlled his own _lungs_ , forcing the air from them and refusing to allow any more in, instinct being the only thing keeping him breathing at all.

Bile rises in his throat and before he knows it, Gladio is grabbing onto his shirt, trying to stop him from flying out of car as he launches himself like a ragdoll over the side to vomit. Gladio’s yelling at Ignis to stop the car, jolting as it screeches to a halt. He barely has time to keep Noctis from hitting his head on the driver’s seat.

Gladio says nothing as he attempts to pry away the blanket that has become so thoroughly tangled around Noct’s limbs. The poor prince is gasping for air, retching hard onto the asphalt below. He opens his eyes to see Gladio stood in front of him— _when did he get there?_ —leaning his hands on the car door. “Come on, let’s get you somewhere quiet.” The way Gladio speaks is strange to Noct, like he’s speaking normally, but it’s mixed in with another language. It has to be all in his head. It still feels as if a fog’s shrouding his mind, making it harder to see, hear or even think.

Noct doesn’t even realise he’s been taken a few meters away from the car. The thought of moving without remembering sets his nerves on edge once more, his stomach twisting in fear. His legs are shaky, but as he places one foot carefully in front of the other, he knows that _he’s_ the one controlling them. The thought alone could have made him cry with joy. Leaning against a rock as his stomach lurches once more, Gladio rubs his back with one hand, his other grasping his upper arm, steadying him as he wobbles precariously.

“Shit…” he gasps out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He winces at the burn in his throat, letting out a sharp hiss.

“Feeling any better?” Gladio asks, leaning over to get a better look at Noct’s face. He’s pale, exhausted, his eyes glimmering with uncertainty.

“I...I dunno,” he replies, rubbing his face with a groan. At least he can understand Gladio this time. He wishes he could answer, but nothing feels right, even now he’s healed up. His frown deepens. “Keep remembering things. How it felt. Keep...seeing things.” His expression twists into one of discomfort. “Can’t...can’t make it stop.” His stomach lurches again as Gladio holds onto him. It’s a long few seconds of quiet, with only the occasional ambience of the local wildlife rising for the day mixed with Noct’s heavy breathing to be heard. “Gladio...what did I...?”

“You didn’t do anything,” the shield replies quickly, cutting him off. “Some daemon got the idea you’d make a fun playtoy, and now you’re paying for it.” Noct’s eyes linger on the cuts and bruises littering Gladio’s body.

“So did you.” Gladio shrugs.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” He smirks. “You think I spent years of my life training your sorry ass to not know how to deal with you?” For the first time in hours, Noct smiled, letting out a small snort of amusement.

“...Right.”

“Do you...wanna talk about it?”

Noct’s eyes dart about as he swallows hard. “N...no. No, it’s okay.” It isn’t okay, not by a long shot, but from the way his stomach reacts at the mere thought, he doesn’t think he’s quite ready to face any of it at the moment.

Silence descends once more, as Gladio keeps a steady hand on Noct’s back. After a long pause, he takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he says, quietly, but enough to be heard in the still morning. Noct tilts his head to look at his shield, confusion evident in his eyes. “It’s my job to protect you, and well...look what happened.” He rubs the back of his head awkwardly, pointedly looking away. Noct musters a small smile.

“Not your fault,” he says, although it lacks the level of conviction he feels is needed. Instead he just sounds so very tired. He leans harder onto the rock as he feels his knees finally buckle, but Gladio’s fast to catch him. “Just...help me back. Then we’re even.” He lets out a small, exhausted laugh and Gladio can’t help a fond smile. Slowly and clumsily, they head back to the Regalia together.

 

Checking into the Longwythe Motel is a rushed effort, with luggage haphazardly discarded in the corner of the room as Gladio half supports, half carries Noct to one of the beds, removing his tattered clothing and boots before setting him on the bed and stepping into the bathroom. The prince looks awake, in theory. His eyes are heavy lidded and he seems to respond to sounds and touch, but he’s like a dead weight as he’s moved this way and that, with Ignis cleaning up his now healed wounds.

As Noct is laid back onto the bed, amidst feeble protests of not needing any sleep, Prompto moves to close the curtains, blocking out the sun that now shines strongly through the window. He looks back at his friend, seeing him asleep almost instantly, despite what he’d said. The tense expression on his face, even in sleep, is a sure sign that he didn’t drift off willingly. Letting out a sigh, he runs a hand through his hair, frowning at the blood and grime on his skin. What should have been a standard nighttime hunt had turned into a complete mess. His gaze drifts to Ignis. He looks exhausted—although he’s pretty sure _he_ looks just as bad—the last dregs of adrenaline fading as things finally calm down.

The bathroom door opens and Gladio steps out, rubbing a towel through his hair and looking significantly cleaner than before. He looks at Prompto, jabbing a thumb towards the door. “Get yourself cleaned up,” he instructs, voice subdued. Without a word, Prompto separates himself from the others, left to his thoughts.

Not exactly something he’s particularly keen on.

Removing his shirt as the shower fires into life, he catches sight of himself in the mirror. Besides a cut across his chest that he’s surprised to realise he had forgotten about, he’s pretty sure none of the blood is his own. Stepping into the shower, he feels his skin crawl as memories dance in his head; the feeling of the spearhead slicing through fabric and skin, the way Noct’s arm cracked beneath his grip...the fading look in his eyes as his mind was almost consumed.

He scrubs at his skin until it turns red, pleading for the feeling to stop as tears prick in his eyes.

He’d hurt Noct. They’d almost _lost_ him.

It’s as if everything he’s bottled up over the past few hours has finally erupted. He just hopes the sound of the shower drowns him out.

 

Prompto leaves the bathroom half an hour later, eyes red rimmed and puffy. He knows he can’t fool the others by claiming it was the steam, as Gladio’s quick to approach, a hand on his shoulder. He looks to Ignis, who nods in acknowledgement, taking his turn to get cleaned up. He only bothers to wash the worst of the dirt off him at the sink, following with a quick change of clothes. The rest can wait. Gladio’s already ushering Prompto out the door as Ignis takes his place next to Noct once again.

“We’ll be back soon,” the shield says quietly. “Call us if you need anything.”

“Of course. Please, take as long as you need,” Ignis replies, voice weary. He doesn’t turn away from Noct’s sleeping form, as if relishing in every movement of his chest rising and falling to a slow yet steady rhythm.

 

Memories and visions plague Noct as he finds himself powerless to stop them. The flames searing higher, images of his friends beaten and broken before him as he’s unable to fight back for control. His vision is red with blood as an unholy laugh tears through his throat. His friends are dying, he can’t stop it, he can’t—

A voice is calling sharply to him, but he can’t understand a word. Something’s wrapped around his wrists—he struggles against it, only feeling it get tighter. He opens his eyes as the energy seeps from his body. He goes slack, slumping forward and finally seeing Ignis’ distorted form before him. Confusion and panic overtakes him. He can’t move anymore—can’t control his breathing. They said he was safe—was he hurting them again?!

“...here, Noct. …..alright.” The cold from his dreams follows him to the waking world, seeping its way deeper into his bones, and he can almost _see_ the fog surrounding him once more, ready to drag him down.

“S’here…” Noct finally manages to say, barely above a whisper. “S’come for me—!” His lungs seize as he struggles for air. He feels Ignis gently pull him closer and holds him.

“It’s gone, Noct. I promise.” He almost wants to sob with relief that he’s understanding Ignis’ words, but fear still grips him as his limbs refuse to move.

“Ignis, I can’t— _can’t move!_ When I woke up—what was I—?” He’s gasping for air, begging the terrifyingly familiar crushing feeling around his lungs to release its hold.

“It’s not the daemon, Noct, I swear,” Ignis says firmly. “You had a nightmare.” A pause as Ignis stares intensely at him. “It’s _gone_ . The breaths you take right now are your own, as are the words you speak. Your body and mind is suffering a loss of control because you’re _recovering_.” He’s speaking every word crisply and cleanly, hoping it will get through.

“N...no…” Noct mumbles, his head slumping into Ignis’ chest. “Can’t you _feel_ it?” Lightning sparks around his fingers as his arm fires into life, desperate to fight his invisible enemy. Was that even _him_ doing this? Or something else? Ignis backs away as Noct slumps back onto the bed, eyes wide and terrified. He just wants to curl up and forget everything, but he can’t even do that.

Eyes scrunching shut, he wills the entire world to just _stop_. “I‘m sorry,” he croaks out. “I can’t—can’t escape. It’s gonna...gonna—”

“Noct.” Ignis’ voice quiets him instantly. It’s forceful. Deadly serious. “Breathe. Each breath is yours, nobody else’s.” It so hard to keep his lungs from objecting, but finally his breathing settles down. He’s lifted into a sitting position once more. “Now, open your eyes.”

It takes far more force than he’d hoped, but as they pry open, he’s met with a phone screen, front facing camera aimed at him.

“Look at your eyes, Noct,” Ignis says, gentler now. “Before, they carried an unnatural hue.” Noct studies his face in the camera, eyes wide at how ashen he looks. Blue eyes greet him, free of any daemonly aura. He recalls his dream, seeing the unnatural way they shone. This us completely different. “You were scared. You lashed out in your sleep, and stress called forth your magic. I assure you, nothing has control over you.”

Noct remains transfixed at the camera view before him, taking in every minute detail, every scrape and smear of remaining blood and dirt on his pale face. “But I…” His voice is quiet, eyes narrowing in confusion and fear. “I can still feel it. It won’t go away.” He wants to believe Ignis’ words more than anything, but the pressure around his chest and the way his hands barely do more than twitch entire seconds after trying to move them are too much for his paranoid mind. He just wants to escape this nightmare, but he doesn't know if he even can at this point.

Ignis pulls him into a hug, and Noct manages to bring his arms up to weakly return it, grabbing onto his jacket. The room is still dark, still quiet, which Ignis is greatly thankful for. Gladio and Prompto don’t need to see this.

“Come now, let’s get you cleaned up.” Ignis moves off the bed, holding onto Noct’s arms to support him and guide him to his feet.

He’s not sure if he can. He’s able to move his arms sluggishly, but it still feels as if something else is in control of his body, making commands to his limbs practically useless. But Ignis has to be right—the creature _has_ to be gone. With some difficulty, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, before he’s hoisted to his feet, stumbling. Ignis is quick to catch him. It’s a slow shuffle to the bathroom, and within minutes Noct is sat on the toilet seat, having his remaining injuries checked over and wiped up. He distantly takes in his enclosed surroundings, attention suddenly turning towards Ignis.

“Where’s Prompto and Gladio?” he asks, voice wavering slightly. “Are they safe?”

“They’re fine, Noct,” Ignis replies, examining the prince’s roughed up clothing. “They merely wanted to get some fresh air. I should expect they’ll return shortly.” Noct falls quiet again at the words. A final potion is placed in his hands—one he’s relieved to find he can actually _hold_ this time—and after changing into a fresh set of clothes, he’s brought back to bed.

Propped up on pillows, he makes a futile attempt at getting comfortable. It’s only now dawned on him how much his back still aches, but he won’t question why. Blinking slowly, he tries to mull things over in his head—easier said than done with the mix of dreams, hallucinations and memories clashing together chaotically. His head slumps back onto the headboard, as he closes his eyes.

“Ignis...what happened? I saw—” He cuts himself off, the image of Prompto stood before him, face fearful and injured, burnt into his mind. “I saw something, for a second. But I don’t remember.” Ignis remains quiet for a moment, sitting on the bed next to his, hands clasped together.

“There isn’t much to tell, truth be told,” he replies plainly, keeping his gaze low as he considers his words. “We had no way to know our skirmish with the daemons would call forth a mindflayer. Clearly it sensed your magical prowess and chose you as its host. Defeating it proved an arduous task, but…” He looks back up at Noct. “You’re still alive. That’s all that matters.”

“And I hurt you guys. Right?” Noct’s voice is quiet, head tilting forward once more as his hand sluggishly raises to run through his hair. His eyes lock with Ignis’.

“You were merely the puppet, locked away while it did whatever it needed to in order to feed upon your mind.” As the words register in Noct’s mind, a tingle of fear creeps down his spine. He already doesn’t feel fully in control of his body in its current state—how can he be sure this isn’t some other way the mindflayer is keeping him hostage? How does he know he won’t do something terrible the next time he sleeps? What if—

“It’s _gone_ , Noct.” He jumps at the forcefulness of the words. “If it weren’t, you wouldn’t even be _alive_ right now.” Noct looks away again.

“Right…” he says, letting out a breath. Memories are still resurging in his head, made fresh by the mindflayer’s mental prison. He rubs a hand over his face, wishing there were something to take his mind off them.

“Noct?” He snaps out of his thoughts and looks at Ignis, but his eyes keep darting around, blinking rapidly as his mind remains unfocused. “What’s the matter?” Noct isn't sure he even knows where to even begin at this point.

“I...um…” He draws in a deep breath, rubbing at his face once more. “Sorry. That whole thing...it brought back some memories I don’t wanna think about.” Ignis remains quiet; he’s quite confident he knows exactly what Noct is talking about.

“We’re here for you, Noct. While we cannot take your more painful memories away from you, we’re all here, right now in the present, to help in any way we can.” He smiles warmly. “Perhaps for now, some sleep might help. You must be exhausted.” Noct tenses up at the suggestion.

“No, it’s okay,” he says quietly. “It kinda feels...wrong, right now. Like it did back...then…” He trails off, clearly remembering the sensations of what had happened again. Ignis places a firm hand on his shoulder, pulling him back to the present.

“Very well, but I insist you get some proper rest soon. Fatigue won’t help your recovery.” Noct nods slowly, finally letting his head rest back against the headboard once more. The room remains still, quiet. A complete 180 of merely a few hours ago. Neither of them find any problem with this.

The door opens not long after and Gladio steps in, followed by Prompto; Ignis notices how bloodshot the gunner’s eyes are. With how long they were gone, he must have had a _lot_ to work out of his system. The two remaining members are fast by Noct’s side, with Prompto bombarding him with questions, sending the prince’s head spinning. Noctis stumbles over his words; he can’t even remember a quarter of what was just said.

“Perhaps it’s best if we take things slower,” Ignis suggests lightly. The blond lets out an embarrassed laugh, taking a seat on Noct’s bed, casting quick looks at his neck and arm before smiling warmly.

“Just...glad you’re back with us, Noct.” He sounds like he might start crying again, a slew of emotions still whirring its way through him. Noct returns the smile, but even through his exhaustion, he can tell his friend is still upset by the whole ordeal. He moves to scratch the back of his head, wincing as his hand collides with the side of his neck instead.

“So...thanks, guys. And...sorry.”

“The hell have you got to apologise for?” Gladio asks nonchalantly. “Not like you were warping into us on purpose, right?”

A pause. “No….but maybe I could’ve—”

“Don’t start with that.” Gladio paces closer to the bed, clapping a hand on his shoulder. He smirks as Noct moves to knock it away. “Not really many reports of people surviving that crap. Not as well as you, anyway. Good job holding out as long as you did.”

“Indeed, we must be thankful for your boundless tenacity,” Ignis adds with a smirk. “It certainly is easy to forget how strong you truly are.” He flexes his shoulder with a small grunt as it still twinges from a the force of parrying during the fight. “A mistake I shan’t be making again anytime soon.”

It’s absolutely baffling to both himself and the others, but Noct finds himself laughing. After everything that’s happened, he supposes his emotions are still on the unpredictable side. “Guess you trained me too well, Gladio.”

“Would you have expected anything less?” the shield responds with a grin, ruffling Noct’s hair playfully. “Soon as you’re better, we’re _all_ training more. Can’t let ourselves get beat by a runt like you.”

Noct lets out a short, albeit tired chuckle, genuine and without fear. Considering their position just a few hours ago, this was more than the prince’s retinue could ever hope for. Prompto leans forward, pulling Noct into a hug. “Don’t ever scare us like that again,” he said, letting out an short laugh of relief. “ _Really_ don’t wanna have to try kicking your ass again anytime soon.” He can’t help the content sigh that leaves him when Noct returns the hug.

“Not planning to, don’t worry,” he replies with a tired smile.

They all chat for a while, about anything and everything. Any tension left in the room dissolves amidst the laughter, and Noct at long last feels the weight around his lungs easing. Gladio opens the curtains, and the whole party is thankful for the beautiful stream of light that floods the room. Noct finds his attention wavering, words becoming harder to decipher once more. An after effect of the ordeal, he’s told. Rest will remedy it. It’s only when he’s asking far more often than not for the others to repeat themselves that he finally concedes defeat.

He’s so tired, but it doesn’t feel wrong this time. It feels...welcoming. It fills him with a sense of contentment he hadn’t thought possible after everything that had happened that night. Finally resting his head back on the pillows, he allows his eyes to drift closed, focusing on the air that enters and leaves his lungs.

Every breath is his. No one else’s. And so at last, he sleeps soundly, guarded by his closest friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, wasn't that a fun one! :'D I have now learnt that post-possession is a lot harder to write than possession. The more you know!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, hope you enjoyed it! <3
> 
> ~For updates and fandom stuff, check out my [art/writing](http://doodlebless.tumblr.com) and [fandom](http://angel-bless.tumblr.com) blogs. Also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/angel_bless) too!~


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